


Staring in the Blackness at Some Distant Star

by prouvaireafterdark



Series: Michael Sanders AU [2]
Category: Roswell New Mexico (TV 2019)
Genre: Acceptance, Alex Manes Deserves Nice Things, Alex Manes Needs a Hug, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Do not post to another site, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Family Feels, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Jesse Manes' A+ Parenting, M/M, Meeting the Parents, Michael Sanders AU, POV Alex Manes, Walt Sanders is a Good Dad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-12
Updated: 2020-10-12
Packaged: 2021-03-07 21:01:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,468
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26974087
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prouvaireafterdark/pseuds/prouvaireafterdark
Summary: Acceptance has felt like nothing but a pipe dream for so long that now, sitting at the kitchen table with Michael and his dad, Alex feels a little like he’s in the Twilight Zone.Because after walking in on Alex sprawled on his living room floor and kissing his only son, Mr. Sanders didn’t yell or throw things or even kick Alex out of his house.Because all Mr. Sandershasdone is cook Alex dinner and ask him how his advanced guitar lessons are going.
Relationships: Alex Manes & Walt Sanders, Michael Guerin/Alex Manes
Series: Michael Sanders AU [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1742722
Comments: 32
Kudos: 197





	Staring in the Blackness at Some Distant Star

**Author's Note:**

> I know it's been a while, but hopefully this direct follow up to [Caught in the Moment](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24450829) makes up for it! 💜
> 
> It's also Alex-centric in time for Tyler Blackburn's birthday 🎉

There are nights when Alex crawls into bed with bruises he’ll have to explain away to Michael in the morning already blooming on his skin.

On these nights, Alex draws his blankets close around himself and lives in the corner of his mind where things are different—where he’s older, stronger, and finally free from all the bullshit that comes with being Jesse Manes’ youngest, most disappointing son.

He pictures a future where he can walk down Main Street holding Michael’s hand and not give a single fuck who’s watching—or better yet, load up Michael’s pick up truck with their belongings and leave Roswell altogether.

And when he’s feeling particularly sorry for himself, he imagines what it would be like to have a family that accepts him as he is, that would even be interested in learning more about his life and the people in it that make him happy.

That kind of acceptance has felt like nothing but a pipe dream for so long that now, sitting at the kitchen table with Michael and his dad, Alex feels a little like he’s in the Twilight Zone.

Because after walking in on Alex sprawled on his living room floor and kissing his only son, Mr. Sanders didn’t yell or throw things or even kick Alex out of his house.

Because all Mr. Sanders _has_ done is cook Alex dinner and ask him how his advanced guitar lessons are going.

Even just the fact that Michael’s dad cares enough to ask about his lessons—let alone remembers Alex mentioning them—defies logic. After years of his own father scoffing and rolling his eyes whenever he dares to talk about music, Alex has come to expect a certain level of apathy toward his interests from the adults in his life.

And yet here Mr. Sanders sits, listening attentively while Alex talks about the chord progressions he learned earlier this week.

It’s all a little hard to accept, if Alex is honest. So much so that, even as he lowers his guard, there’s a voice in his head warning him to be careful, preparing him for the possibility that this moment really is too good to be true.

But then Alex catches Michael smiling at him fondly across the table, and maybe it’s foolishly sentimental, but Alex trusts that smile more than anything. He knows it means he’s safe, that he’s loved, and it gives him hope that maybe this _is_ real—that maybe Alex doesn’t have to stick to that familiar corner of his mind for a taste of the acceptance he’s spent his whole life wishing for.

But as with every other good thing in his life, Alex should have expected that his father would find some way to ruin it.

As dinner winds to a close, Alex’s phone vibrates in his pocket. He fishes it out and sees he has a new text from Flint. It’s a short message, but Alex’s blood runs cold the second he reads it.

_15 minutes_

“Hey,” Alex hears distantly, his attention grabbed more by the foot nudging his own under the table. He looks up from his phone to see concern on Michael’s face. “What’s wrong?”

“I-I need to go home,” Alex stammers in response.

“Is everything okay?” Michael pries, the furrow in his brow growing deeper.

Alex swallows tensely, his stomach knotting up as he thinks of the fresh Hell he’s going to face if his dad gets home before he does.

“It will be if I get home in the next fifteen minutes,” Alex answers carefully.

He can feel Mr. Sanders’ questioning gaze on him as he offers, “I can drop you off now if you need.”

“No, I can do it,” Michael says immediately, already standing up and reaching for his keys on the kitchen counter.

“Not a chance, kid,” Mr. Sanders shuts him down.

Michael freezes where he stands, his head whipping abruptly in his father’s direction.

“What?” Michael asks, brow crinkling with confusion Alex can’t help but share. “Why not?”

“You’ll be too busy doing the dishes and cleaning your room,” Mr. Sanders tells him.

“Dad!” Michael starts to argue, but Mr. Sanders puts his foot down.

“Don’t think I’ve forgotten you slacked on getting dinner started,” he says, before adding, “ _again_.”

“That wasn’t even my fault,” Michael defends himself.

“Oh, so was it Alex’s fault then?” Mr. Sanders shoots back, raising one weathered eyebrow.

Alex flinches reflexively at the suggestion, his cheeks coloring, but Michael’s dramatic sigh steals his attention.

“Alright, fine,” Michael says, holding up his hands in surrender. “If you insist, _old man_.”

To anyone else’s ear, it would come across as a rude or petulant thing to say, but Michael somehow makes it sound like an endearment.

“Cute,” Mr. Sanders comments in a dry tone, and Alex can see his mouth turn up a little at the corners as he tries not to smile. “Now get started. Those dishes aren’t gonna wash themselves.”

Michael looks offended. “I’ve gotta say goodbye first.”

Alex’s heart jumps in his chest when Michael walks over to him and pulls him into his arms. It’s far from the most intimate hug they’ve shared, but Alex’s eyes still flick nervously over to where Mr. Sanders is patting himself down for his keys.

When he feels Michael’s lips brush against his cheek, Alex flushes and pulls back to look at him. Michael’s expression is soft, his eyes concerned and full of love as they track a path across Alex’s face.

 _God_ , Alex thinks, _if Michael’s ever looked at me like this in front of his dad, no wonder he figured us out._

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Michael whispers.

“Yeah,” Alex lies through a tight-lipped smile.

Michael frowns, clearly not buying it.

“Just don’t want to miss curfew,” Alex explains, hoping that will be enough. There’s a lot Michael doesn’t know about his dad and now isn’t really the best time to get into it.

This time, Michael sighs and nods in understanding.

“Call me when you get home?” he asks, and Alex’s heart melts a little at the need he hears in his voice.

Alex nods and reaches discreetly for Michael’s hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. “I will,” he assures him.

“You ready?” Mr. Sanders asks as he waits patiently by the door.

“Yeah,” Alex says, standing up a little straighter. “Let’s go.”

Inside the car, things are quiet— _too_ quiet, even with the dad rock filtering into the cab of Mr. Sanders’ truck through the radio—and Alex is nervous again. His own ticking clock aside, he’s never been _alone_ with Michael’s dad before and he can’t help but wonder if there’s an ulterior motive behind his offer for a ride. Alex tries to remind himself that Mr. Sanders has been nothing but nice to him all evening, but without Michael as a buffer that voice is back, reminding him that that doesn’t really mean shit.

Even _his_ dad isn’t a bastard _all_ the time.

The anticipation is unbearable and eventually Alex takes a breath and asks, “So is this the part where you give me the shovel talk?”

He’d been aiming for casual, but he doesn’t quite hit the mark. The corner of Mr. Sanders’ mouth ticks upward and Alex swallows tensely as he waits for a response.

“No,” Mr. Sanders answers lightly, eyes still on the road ahead.

“Oh,” Alex says, relaxing minutely. “Why not?”

“Don’t need to,” is all Mr. Sanders says.

Alex thinks about that, confused. “Why not?”

“Because I’ve been watching you, son,” Sanders explains, “and I think the idea of Michael hurting hurts _you_.”

Alex thinks back to all those afternoons he’s spent with Michael at his house or at the junkyard, remembering how hard he’d tried to not do or say anything that would give away his feelings whenever Mr. Sanders was around. He thought he’d been successful, but Michael must not be the only one who wears his heart on his sleeve.

“Am I wrong?” Mr. Sanders asks, and Alex realizes he’s been quiet too long.

“No,” Alex answers quickly. “No, you’re not.”

“Good,” Mr. Sanders nods.

He thinks that’s the end of it until Mr. Sanders asks him, “How we doin’ on time?” a minute later.

“Six minutes,” Alex says, double-checking his phone.

Mr. Sanders grunts in response and presses his foot on the gas pedal a little harder, familiar enough with Alex’s directions to know they’re cutting it close.

“Curfew’s awfully early for a boy your age, isn’t it?” Mr. Sanders comments as he turns down a nearby side street.

“I, uh, may have forgotten to tell my dad I was going out,” Alex admits, hoping the confession won’t bite him in the ass.

“Mm,” Mr. Sanders hums in understanding. “Well, at least you were just having dinner at my place. S’not like you were out doing something bad.”

Alex huffs a shallow, incredulous laugh. “I doubt he’ll see it that way, sir.”

“I can vouch for you if you need,” he offers, but Alex shakes his head. No good will come from his dad finding out he was spending time at Michael’s house, whether he knows they’re dating or not.

Mr. Sanders seems to turn that over in his mind for a moment before he asks, “Does your old man know?”

Alex doesn’t need to ask him what he means. He sighs and wraps his arms around himself a little defensively.

“Not about Michael,” he answers.

“I see.”

Mr. Sanders must take pity on him then because he lapses into silence once more. Alex fills the minutes by reflexively checking his phone until Mr. Sanders’ truck finally rolls to a stop outside his house.

Alex unbuckles his seatbelt quickly, but before he gets out of the car, Mr. Sanders says something that makes him pause, his hand still on the door handle.

“You’re a good kid, Alex,” he says, “and you’ve been good for Michael. As long as that stays true, you’re welcome to come over as often as you like.”

It takes a moment for Mr. Sanders’ words to fully sink in, and once they do, Alex’s eyes start to burn. After years of feeling unwelcome— _hated_ , even—in his own home, there aren’t words for what that means to him.

He swallows roughly, choking down the emotion brewing inside him, and forces himself to smile.

“Thank you,” Alex says, and it doesn’t feel like nearly enough.

“Don’t mention it,” Mr. Sanders replies. “You should probably get going now. You’ve only got another two minutes.”

That lights a fire under Alex’s ass.

“Shit,” he says, slinging the strap of his messenger bag over his neck. “Thanks again, Mr. Sanders.”

Mr. Sanders’ lips twitch up in a small smile. “No problem, kid.”

Alex hears Mr. Sanders’ truck idle behind him as he books it to the front door. He fumbles for his keys and throws it open the second it’s unlocked.

“You can unclench,” he hears Flint call from the couch, his eyes not straying from the first person shooter he’s playing. “He’s not home yet.”

“Fuck you,” Alex grumbles as he closes the door behind him, but he releases a breath in relief all the same.

Alex climbs the stairs to his bedroom two at a time, shutting the door and letting his bag thud against the carpet once he’s inside. He collapses onto his bed and kicks his shoes haphazardly off his feet, mind reeling from the emotional rollercoaster he’s ridden tonight.

His phone buzzes in his hand a minute later, and Alex opens it to find a text from Michael.

_Did you get home okay?_

_Shit,_ Alex thinks, dialing Michael immediately.

 _“Alex,”_ Michael says when he picks up on the second ring. _“Everything okay?”_

“Yeah, I’m okay,” Alex says, taking care to keep his voice down so he isn’t overheard. “I just got home, so, crisis averted.”

 _“Okay, good,”_ Michael sighs, sounding relieved.

“Are _you_ okay?” Alex asks a moment of silence later, rolling over onto his back so he can stare at the ceiling. “Doing the dishes can’t be that bad, can it?”

Alex can hear Michael laugh softly over the line.

 _“Sorry,”_ Michael says, and Alex can practically see him shaking his head at himself. _“You just, um, kinda scared me when you left. You looked like you were, like, a minute away from having a panic attack. I was worried about you.”_

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to worry you,” Alex apologizes. “I just lost track of time, and, well—you know how my dad is,” he finishes vaguely, hoping Michael won’t probe deeper.

 _“It’s okay,”_ Michael assures him _. ”I get it.”_

There’s a lull where neither of them speaks, and Alex just lets the familiar sound of Michael’s breathing distract him from the tight feeling growing in his throat.

He blinks back to attention when he hears Michael ask, _“So how was the drive with my dad? He didn’t do anything embarrassing, did he?”_

“No,” Alex says quickly, thinking back to his conversation with Mr. Sanders. “No, he was… he was great, actually.”

 _“Yeah?”_ Michael asks, sounding a little surprised. _“No awkward ‘If you hurt my son…’ talk?”_

“No,” Alex says. “He said I didn’t need one, actually.”

_“Really?”_

“Yup _._ Apparently, I’m not exactly subtle about how in love with you I am.”

 _“You’re really not,”_ Michael laughs, sounding inordinately pleased. Alex closes his eyes to that happy sound, picturing Michael’s wide smile as it washes over him. _“Did he say anything else?”_

Alex recalls their final exchange before he left the car, the one that made him want to cry. It hits him all over again—the extraordinary validation and impossible kindness Michael’s father offered him as easily as he’d offered him a ride home—and Alex once again feels like he’s on the precipice of some big, undefined emotion.

“Yeah,” Alex replies, and he finds the words catching in his throat when he adds, “He, um, he said I was good for you and that I could come over any time.”

“ _Oh fuck yeah,”_ Michael says, ignorant of the emotions weighing down Alex’s heart and the tears gathering in his eyes. _“I hope you know I plan to exploit the hell out of that ‘cause I literally always want you over.”_

Alex’s answering laugh comes out a little wet, and it’s then that Michael notices something’s off.

“ _Alex?_ ” he asks.

“Yeah?” Alex responds, his voice breaking just enough to betray him.

_“Are you—Alex, are you crying?”_

Alex tries to answer him, to say something, _anything_ , but he just—can’t. Not without releasing the sob building up inside him. Instead, he rolls onto his side again and draws his limbs close to his chest, his phone still pressed tight to his ear.

 _“Alex,_ ” Michael says his name again, soft as a whisper this time, and _fuck_ , Alex wishes he was still with Michael, wishes he could just tuck himself against his chest and forget everything else. _“Baby, what’s wrong?”_

“Sorry,” Alex sniffles, feeling incredibly stupid. “Nothing’s _wrong_ , I just—“ Alex breaks off to take a deep breath to collect himself, but the tears just keep falling down his cheeks. “Fuck, sorry, this is so dumb.”

 _“Hey, no, it’s not,”_ Michael tries to soothe him. _“Just breathe. I’m right here.”_

Alex closes his eyes and focuses on his breathing again, willing his tears away. It takes another minute, but eventually they stop.

“Sorry,” Alex apologizes again once his voice returns.

 _“You don’t need to apologize, Alex,”_ Michael says. _“Can you just tell me what’s wrong? Is there anything I can do to help?”_

“It’s stupid,” Alex says again.

 _“If you’re upset about it, it’s not stupid,”_ Michael argues. _“Not to me.”_

Alex lets out a sigh before he answers. “I just… I never thought I’d hear anyone say that to me, I guess.”

_“Say what?”_

“That I’m good for my boyfriend,” Alex explains. “That I’m... _welcome_ , at his house, whenever—whenever I want to be there.”

 _“Oh, baby,”_ Michael sighs sympathetically. _“That’s not stupid, that’s—really fucking sad, but it’s not stupid.”_

Alex sniffs as he shrugs. He doesn’t need to explain the rest of his thoughts to Michael—that he’d convinced himself that Michael’s dad would throw him out or worse the second he found out about them. They’ve had that conversation already, months ago now, tucked away together in the bed of Michael’s truck with the desert sky a starry blanket overhead. He’d been so sure things would get harder for them, not easier, and the fact that his relentless cynicism turned out to be _wrong_ , well—

His gratitude is a little overwhelming.

There’s a moment where neither of them speaks, both of them unsure what to say, until Michael huffs a sigh in frustration.

 _“Fuck, I just really want to hold you right now,”_ he says.

Alex buries his face in his pillow and makes a noise that says he agrees.

_“Do you think you could sneak out tonight?”_

“I doubt it,” Alex says. His dad will be jet-lagged when he gets back and that means he’ll probably be up all night.

 _“Hmm…”_ Michael hums in thought. _“What do you say we cut gym tomorrow, then? We could come back to my place and make out while Buffy reruns play in the background.”_

“You had me at ‘cut gym’,” Alex says, and Michael laughs, the sound warming Alex from the inside out.

 _“There’s my boy,”_ Michael says fondly, and hopeless affection rushes through Alex at Michael’s gentle possessiveness.

“I love you,” he says, wishing he could see the way Michael’s eyes light up when those words hit.

 _“I love you too,”_ Michael replies easily, and it would be a perfect moment if not for the daunting sound of his father’s SUV rolling into the driveway just outside Alex’s window.

“Shit, I gotta go,” Alex says, climbing out of bed. “Have fun cleaning your room.”

Michael whines a little at that. _“I won’t, but thank you.”_

“Well,” Alex says, picking up his shoes and placing them in his closet where they belong, “what if I said that if your room is clean when I get there tomorrow, we’ll do more than just make out?”

 _“I would say that I’m suddenly_ very _motivated,”_ Michael answers.

“There’s my boy,” Alex says, and Michael laughs at the callback.

 _“You know me so well,”_ Michael says. _“Anything specific I should plan for, or are you gonna surprise me?”_

Before Alex can answer, he hears the front door slam on its hinges and nerves start to coil in his belly all over again.

“I’ll surprise you,” he says, reaching into his messenger bag and grabbing the book he’s reading for English.

 _“Can’t wait,”_ Michael replies, his voice dipping down seductively, but all Alex notices are the heavy footsteps on the stairs.

“Alright, I _really_ gotta go now,” Alex says.

 _“If you insist,”_ Michael sighs. _“I’ll see you tomorrow.”_

“See you tomorrow,” Alex echoes and hangs up.

His bedroom door opens a moment later and when it does, Alex is sitting at his desk with his book, the picture of innocence.

“What are you doing?” Jesse Manes asks him, still in his uniform.

“Reading,” Alex says, waving the book so his father can see.

He steps further into Alex’s bedroom, his eyes doing a sweep for anything out of place. When he doesn’t find anything, Jesse comes up to Alex’s desk and plucks the book he’s reading right out of his grasp.

“ _Night_ by Elie Wiesel,” he reads the cover aloud, turning it over in his hands.

“It’s for English,” Alex explains as his father flips idly through the thin book. He tosses it unceremoniously on Alex’s desk when he’s done.

“Flint ordered a pizza,” he says. “Should be here in thirty.”

“Okay,” Alex nods, trying not to think about how he’s somehow going to have to eat a second dinner. “I’ll be down soon to set the table.”

“Good,” Jesse says, turning on his heel to head back the way he came. Alex watches him go, releasing a breath he didn’t know he was holding when the door closes behind him.

That is, until it opens again a second later and his father peeks his head back in.

“Oh, and Alex?” Jesse says, face hard and impassable as stone.

“Yeah?”

“You better have that black shit off your face when you come down.”

“Yes, sir,” Alex answers, ducking his head and silently cursing himself for forgetting to remove his makeup when he first got home.

Without another word, Jesse walks off down the hall, leaving Alex’s door ajar.

When his footsteps have completely receded down the stairs, Alex sinks into his desk chair with a heavy sigh, his head tipping back up toward the ceiling.

_Tomorrow can’t come fast enough._

**Author's Note:**

> If you liked this fic, please leave a kudos and/or a comment, but do NOT repost it to another site! Didn't think that was a thing I needed to say, but apparently people are trash 🙃
> 
> Find me on tumblr [@prouvaireafterdark!](https://prouvaireafterdark.tumblr.com/)


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